If a man has talent and can't use it, he's failed. If he uses only half of it, he has partly failed. If he uses the whole of it, he has succeeded, and won a satisfaction and triumph few men ever know.
Publishing is a very mysterious business. It is hard to predict what kind of sale or reception a book will have, and advertising seems to do very little good.
Is this not the true romantic feeling; not to desire to escape life, but to prevent life from escaping you.
Not even the most powerful organs of the press, including Time, Newsweek, and The New York Times, can discover a new artist or certify his work and make it stick. They can only bring you the scores.
Perhaps this is our strange and haunting paradox here in America - that we are fixed and certain only when we are in movement.
Death the last voyage, the longest, and the best.
A young man is so strong, so mad, so certain, and so lost. He has everything and he is able to use nothing.
Most of the time we think we're sick, it's all in the mind.
In Sleep we lie all naked and alone, in Sleep we are united at the heart of night and darkness, and we are strange and beautiful asleep; for we are dying the darkness and we know no death.
America - it is a fabulous country, the only fabulous country; it is the only place where miracles not only happen, but where they happen all the time.